Jaded

by Anya Bast

  Maybe his loneliness was a choice too; she didn’t know him well enough to make a judgment on that issue.

  She liked Alek, but her feelings were nothing compared to what she felt for Byron. Could she be intimate with Alek now, after the full impact of what she felt for Byron had hit her? Would it be enough to see Alek as a client? Would it be enough to merely like him, to feel compassion for him, maybe see a little of herself in him?

  Or was her life as a courtesan over now? It was an important question.

  She moved her hand to cover his. At her touch, he looked over at her in surprise. She smiled. “You know, you might be an important man at that university, but you don’t know everything.”

  “I don’t?”

  She tilted her head to the sky. “You’re right that I never had a formal education, but I do know a bit about the stars. Astronomy has always been a fascinating topic of reading for me.”

  “Really? You’re right. I don’t know much about astronomy.”

  “And I’ve never seen the stars quite as bright as they are this evening.” She stood and held out her hand to him. “Care to walk with me? I’ll point out the constellations.”

  He studied her for a long moment, as if weighing his decision, then stood and took her hand. “I think Byron might be right.”

  They began to walk. “About what?”

  “All men falling in love with you.”

  She laughed. “It’s just an illusion, Alek, nothing more.”

  He stopped and turned toward her. Pushing her hair away from her face, he murmured, “I’m glad Byron brought you here.”

  She held his gaze for a long moment and then, just to see if she could, she went up on her tiptoes and kissed him. There were no sparks like there were with Byron, but she didn’t want to draw away from Alek either. The press of his lips on hers was nice, inviting. She wanted more.

  He made a low sound in the back of his throat and dragged her up against his chest. His hand skated up her back to cup her nape and he slanted his mouth hungrily over hers. His tongue pushed into her mouth and tangled with hers hotly. He didn’t just kiss her; he possessed her mouth.

  Shock rippled through her. This kiss was so unlike mildmannered Alek, the one she thought she’d been dealing with. This was not a scholar’s kiss, or a gentleman’s. This kiss was . . . savage.

  Her eyes opened wide, but still she felt no need to pull away from him. His tongue skated possessively along hers, sending little ripples of passion through her body. He might not touch her heart the way Byron did, but he definitely made her body react.

  Alek Chaikoveii was full of surprises, it seemed.

  This kiss made her wonder what she’d started. His erection poked through his clothing, stabbing her in the lower stomach. She wondered for a moment if he’d push her back to the stone bench, raise her skirts, and take her right here and now.

  The only question was—would she let him?

  Her mind whirled in chaos at the possibility, but her body had melted into a low thrum of pleasurable anticipation. Her nipples had gone hard and tight and her sex had grown warm. The thought of him lifting her skirts, sliding his cock inside her . . . excited her.

  Her question regarding her future appeared to be answered. Perhaps there was still time to rescue herself from the dangerous clutches of love.

  His hand slid over her back, cupping her buttocks. He pressed his cock into her belly and then buried his face in her neck, kissing and nibbling at her skin until her knees went weak and gooseflesh had erupted all over her body. Her veins felt as though they were filling with warm butter. Soon she would be a helpless mess of need.

  A frustrated growl rose in his throat and he gently pushed away from her. He turned his back to her, rubbing his hands over his face. Then, without looking at her, he cleared his throat and said, “I apologize. You took me by surprise. I’m attracted to you and it’s been a long—”

  She touched his shoulder. “Alek. It’s fine.”

  He turned to face her. Shadows masked his face, leaving her unable to read his expression. “No. It’s not. First I was rude to you, now I’m kissing you like I expect something from you.”

  “It’s all right, really.” She swallowed hard, also trying to bring herself back from that surprising moment of lust. She laughed. “That was quite a kiss.”

  “It wasn’t a nice kiss.”

  “No, it definitely wasn’t.”

  “You deserve—”

  “Do you really think women like nice kisses? Not all of the time.” She held a hand out to him and smiled. “Now what was I saying about the constellations?”

  Nine

  When she returned to her room, she saw that Byron had started a fire for her. It burned low, lighting the room and casting flickering shadows. A small part of her had hoped that Byron might have decided to stay until she returned, but her bed was cold and empty. She ran her hand along the top of the comforter and over the pillow.

  It was probably better that way.

  She undressed and slipped into her nightgown, slid her feet between the chilly starched linens and rested her head on the pillow. The path she’d abruptly found herself headed down was not a good one. A cliff loomed in her future unless she could somehow alter her path.

  A soft knock sounded on her door. She rose onto her elbows in the bed, figuring it was Byron. A knot formed in her stomach at another thought that had been rolling around in the back of her mind, something she didn’t want to face—how could she keep sleeping with Byron if he didn’t feel the same way about her?

  She called to the person on the other side of the door to come in and Byron entered the room. He walked to the bed, sat, and, without a word, bent to kiss her softly on the lips.

  Something in her melted.

  She should have asked him to leave. She should have maybe even told him she couldn’t go through with the three-week commitment and left for the steam transport that very minute. Unfortunately, she found herself incapable of doing any of those things.

  So when he pressed her back against the pillows, she went with only a sigh.

  Her fingers tangled in his hair, her body heating from his aggressiveness. He fumbled with her nightgown, pulling it over her head and dropping it to the floor. His mouth closed over her breast, licking and sucking each nipple until a ragged moan escaped her throat.

  She pushed his shirt up, her hands smoothing over the hard flesh of his chest and stomach. Touching him chased all her concerns away and left her with only need. He helped her pull his shirt over his head and she threw it to the floor. Good riddance. She wanted nothing between them, not even fabric. The only sounds in the room were their labored breathing, the sounds of material being discarded and their sighs.

  Standing at the side of the bed, he yanked her to him, leaning over and covering her body with his. He kneed her thighs apart and settled between them. The bed brought her sex up to the perfect height to meet his pelvis. The rough material of his pants rubbed against her sensitized flesh, making her shudder with need. Her mind clouded with lust, she rubbed against him, begging him soundlessly.

  He undid the button and zipper of his pants, grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the mattress. The head of his cock found her slick entrance and he pushed slowly inside. Her back arched and a moan of primal need ripped through her throat. He thrust forward—inch by devastatingly thick inch—stretching her muscles and filling her until all she could do was pant and moan. She spread her thighs as far as she could, welcoming him inside her.

  When she opened her eyes, it was to find his gaze intent, feral, focused on her face. Leveraging his body on hers, he began to slide in and out of her. His long, wide length touched every part of her. He started with slow strokes that became progressively harder and faster. Pleasure poured into her, through her, so quickly and powerfully it dragged low, animallike sounds of need from her throat.

  He dropped a hand to thumb her clitoris, pressing and rotating, as he thrust. A climax burst over h
er, making her cry out and grab on to him, the muscles of her sex pulsing and rippling, her body shuddering from the force of it.

  On the tail end of her orgasm, he pulled out of her, urged her to the center of the mattress and onto her stomach. Understanding what he wanted, she moved onto her hands and knees and tilted her hips, offering herself to him. He paused, just looking at her. Then he groaned, covered her body with his, and guided his cock back inside her, thrusting in hilt-deep.

  She gasped at the abrupt fullness, grasping fistfuls of the blankets, while he moved inside her. Harder, faster. Pounding. An exquisite pleasure that bordered the sweet, fine edge of pain burst over her with every inward thrust. She ceased being able to form rational thoughts, her whole world became Byron’s body against hers, inside her. Pleasure became her ruling force.

  Her second climax made her see stars, bursting over her like the boom from an explosive charge. Her hands fisted the comforter and she nearly lost the ability to stay on her knees, her muscles going soft as butter. Behind her, Byron groaned her name, shouted, and his seed burst inside her.

  When it was over, they collapsed in a tangle, breathing hard. The blankets and sheets a mess around their legs, Byron pulled her against him, running his hands through her hair and kissing her.

  “Let me stay with you tonight,” he murmured against her lips. “I want you to sleep in my arms.”

  She shivered and kissed him softly. Pleasure that had nothing to do with making love rushed through her. “Of course.”

  He pulled her close and she laid her head on his chest, hearing the steady, comforting thump of his heart. “I’m sorry I was so rough. I couldn’t help myself.”

  She wanted to laugh. That was the second time that night a man had apologized for being too aggressive. She lifted her head. “Sorry for giving me two incredible orgasms in a row when I don’t often get even one.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Did you think that the gentle, ineffectual men I take as my client-lovers are explosive in bed?”

  “I just assumed.”

  She smiled. “They are not very good with women. That extends to the bedroom too. Once in while, when they’re listening to me about the proper way to please a woman, they are able to give me an orgasm. But not”—she stopped, her smile fading and swallowing hard as she remembered—“it’s never anything like that, Byron, how it is between you and me. They can’t make me go animallike in my lust, or yell out during sex. They don’t give me orgasms that steal my thoughts or make my knees go weak. Afterward, my body doesn’t tingle the way it does now.”

  He brushed the hair away from her temple. “Now you’re just stroking my ego.”

  “It’s true.”

  “And the women you’ve been with?”

  “Are better at it, for obvious reasons.” She smiled. “Does the thought excite you? It excites most men, two women together.”

  His eyes went dark. “Of course it does. I am a man, after all.”

  Yes, yes, he was. Smiling, she snuggled back down against his chest.

  “And two men?” His voice rumbled through his chest and vibrated into her. “As a courtesan, you’ve been with two men at once I can only presume.”

  “Yes.” She rubbed her hand over his chest. “But only twice.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  She shrugged. “It was nice both times, but nothing like what you and I just did. It takes the right combination of personalities for something like that to be truly successful.”

  “You need to be comfortable with them, you mean.”

  She raised her head to look at him for a moment. “Oh, I’m always comfortable with the men that come to my bed. They don’t make it past my selection process otherwise. But I can’t always tell by interviewing them how they will be in bed.”

  “Of course.”

  She lowered her head again, snuggling against him. The fire crackled and snapped. “I mean something else. Sexual compatibility. I never know when I first meet them if their brand of lovemaking will excite me or not. With a three-person scenario, all parties must suit each other. It’s a difficult balance to achieve.” She paused, smiling. “Your brand of lovemaking excites me, but don’t let it go to your head.”

  “Which one? Both of them are swelling at the moment.” He rolled her over onto her back and pretended to attack her. She gave a squeal of delighted surprise and attacked him right back.

  Through the doorway Byron watched Alek and Lilya studying in the library. They appeared not to notice he was there at all. Talking, laughing about things that sounded like they had nothing to do with history, it was clear they were hitting it off.

  This was exactly what Byron had wanted.

  Her presence had sparked interest from Alek he hadn’t seen in many years—at least interest in things other than his studies. It was a sign that in Lilya’s company he was beginning to pull himself back from the grief-laced haze he’d been in for so long. Perhaps he was entering the world of the living once again.

  Byron had been sure Lilya would have that effect on his friend. She was just the sort of woman Alek liked—smart, quick of wit, and not afraid to challenge a man in his way of thinking.

  Yes, this is what he’d intended.

  Yet, there were other ramifications of her presence in his home that he’d never anticipated—highly disturbing ones.

  The night before he’d followed Lilya out of her bedroom, even though she’d said she’d needed to be alone. He’d been worried about her. He’d watched her race out of the house and had seen Alek go after her with her pelisse.

  After that, he should’ve let it go and not spied. Yet, he had. He’d glimpsed Lilya and Alek through a window as they’d sat on a stone bench in the garden. He’d also seen them kissing . . . and it hadn’t been just a peck. It had been a lush, heated kiss involving lips, tongue, teeth, and hands on each other’s bodies. He’d seen sex in that kiss. Naked, undisguised lust. The level of desire coming from Alek had surprised him. Apparently his friend was suppressing far more than he’d ever imagined.

  It had made him feel more possessive of Lilya than he ever could have anticipated. Rage . . . no, jealousy had reared in him. He’d had to literally hold himself back from rushing out to the garden, pulling them apart, throwing Lilya over his shoulder like some caveman, and marching her up to his bed and tying her there.

  His bed. His Lilya.

  That primal part of him emerging in such a way had taken him off guard. And it wasn’t rational. Lilya wasn’t his; she was a courtesan, for the sake of all of Joshui’s angels. More important, this was why he’d brought her here in the first place.

  Ostensibly, anyway.

  Perhaps there was a part of him that had hoped Lilya would draw Alek out of his self-imposed punishment without sleeping with him. After that kiss, Byron was certain that would not happen. That kiss had possessed the promise of sex. It was only a question of time.

  He’d managed to talk himself back into a place of calm rationality, but it still hadn’t stopped him from entering her room once she was in bed and falling upon her like some kind of animal. He’d wanted to claim her, mark her, make her his.

  But, of course, she would never be his. She wasn’t made for that. He needed to tamp down this irrational reaction, accept it, and let things unfold as they would between Lilya and Alek.

  It was his own damn fault. All of it.

  Ivan checked into a bed-and-breakfast in the town of Ulstrat near Byron Andropov’s home. His motions sharp in every way, he tossed his gloves onto the table near the quaint brass bed and threw the curtains open to stare down at the street below. Almost every establishment in this place bore the name of Andropov. It was enough to make him vomit.

  His fists tightened on the fabric of the curtains until his hands ached. He hated that she was in that man’s house. Her clients, the men she fucked at the Temple of Dreams, they meant nothing to Lilya and so they meant nothing to Ivan.

  Byron Andropov was different
.

  Ivan knew about every single person who’d occupied Lilya’s bed since the time he’d been in love with her, and although Ivan didn’t want her—not anymore—the man who took her from the alley was not welcome to have her.

  Ivan had cataloged every move Lilya had made from the moment he’d seen her on the street corner surrounded by flowers up until this very moment. She had been the only woman he had ever loved and she’d turned out to be a betrayer and a whore. When he’d caught her in the hallway with one of his employees, he’d been angry enough to kill her.

  She’d protested the act, had sworn up and down that she’d been innocent, but he knew better. There was no way one of his men would ever have touched his woman. All of them had been handpicked by him and none of them had been crazy, suicidal, or stupid. They had all known that Lilya was special, the woman he’d intended to make his wife and bear his children. Touching her had meant death.

  No.

  A far more likely scenario was that Lilya had tempted the man into the situation and he hadn’t been able to resist her. He’d paid for his lust with his life. That had been the easy part. Dealing with Lilya had been far more complicated.

  After she’d received the beating she’d deserved, he’d decided that if she wanted to act like a whore . . . she could. Knowing he would never touch her again, he’d tossed her to his men and simply turned away.

  It had been harsh, but she’d reaped exactly what she’d sown. She was lucky he’d allowed her to live.

  He’d never forgiven her, but he hadn’t been able to get his mind off her either. His heart was too soft where she was concerned. He’d even felt guilty for delivering the punishment she’d deserved. After a couple of days the remorse had been too great. He’d tracked down the men who’d taken her and killed every last one of them. Then, fully expecting to find her dead, he’d gone to retrieve Lilya from the alley where they’d dumped her.